


resistance is futile

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Fluff, M/M, Nerdiness, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where it's Sam's birthday, Pyp and Grenn bring Sam to a stripclub and then buy him a private dance with the gorgeous guy dancing on the bar, except that it doesn't go according to plan (hint: it actually goes a lot better).</p>
            </blockquote>





	resistance is futile

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сопротивление бесполезно](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069290) by [Elvira_faery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvira_faery/pseuds/Elvira_faery)



> written for the latest asoiaf kink meme round - the prompt was _Grenn, Pyp, Satin etc. take Sam out for his first night on the town. Sam loves being with his new friends, but is mortified when they take him to a strip club, ad even more mortified when the dancer on the bar is really cute, and seems to be making eyes at him. The guys buy Sam some private time, but he and Jon Snow end up just chatting and laughing and Sam gets his socks charmed the eff off. When their time is up, Jon stops Sam from leaving, and gives him a little dance anyway (or more)_. I should probably say in advance that since I apparently am terrible at describing people dancing this went straight to the porn. I own nothing, the title is Star Trek related (it has a sense, I swear it does) and seriously, don't expect angst. ;)

When Pyp lays out to him their supposed plans for tomorrow evening, Sam can’t help trying to refuse.

“Guys, there’s really no need to. You can come over and I’ll have dinner ready for everyone, you don’t have to -“

“Samwell Tarly,” Pyp interrupts him, “shut it and listen to me for a moment. It’s your _birthday_ , which as far as I know happens just once each year, and while no one is going to say no to your cooking -“

“We wouldn’t!” Grenn interrupts, and Pyp’s elbow lands in his side. Grenn scowls and Pyp turns towards Sam again.

“As I was saying, while we’ll never say no in any other occasion, we’ve been eating at yours pretty most of the time since we started hanging out, and I have no clue of how it works where you come from, but on your birthday you usually treat yourself, you don’t treat others. Not to mention that we saved a shit ton of money since you never let us buy dinner, so we really think that tomorrow you should just come with us and let us pay, all right?”

“I’m not sure - I mean, I really shouldn’t be out partying when there’s finals -“

“In _one month_ , Tarly, and you have the best marks of every class you’re in. You can afford to go out for once.”

“Sam, he’s right,” Grenn chimes in. “I mean, we haven’t known each other too long but seems to me like you never do this kind of stuff. And you really deserve some fun for once.”

“Well - if you’re really sure, I guess -“

“Excellent!” Pyp pats him on the shoulder so hard that Sam almost flinches. “Tomorrow evening, we’re picking you up at nine. Do not even attempt to cook dinner, all right?”

Sam reluctantly agrees and watches them head for their dorm rooms - he has a small apartment on his own not far from campus, and that’s one of the few times he regrets not being in the dorms like most others. Then again he has only made friends now, three years after starting college, and he never had friends in high school - only people who were interested in copying his homework. And he doesn’t go out as a general rule - the world has made it clear to him that it’s just not a good idea. Starting from his father and continuing with most of his classmates in every possible school grade. His mother always used to tell him that after puberty he would lose most of his size, but it had never happened and books always were Sam’s thing more than gyms, and he’s pretty much resigned himself to it now. He sighs, wishing he hadn’t agreed - he’ll most probably make a fool of himself either way. But then again he likes Pyp and Grenn, he loves hanging out with them and he really hasn’t ever had any close friends like that, so well - maybe he’ll make a fool of himself but he’ll spend more time with them. Nothing to lose, right?

—

The following evening, he puts on his newest jeans and the only good shirt he owns - not that either will make him more attractive, that’s not the point, but he supposes that if you’re going for a night out of the town you should at least try to… well, present yourself as best as you can, right? At nine he’s in front of the door and he sees Pyp’s used Ford that probably has been running since at least the mid-eighties stopping in front of the house. When he gets in the back, Grenn whistles from the passenger seat.

“Woah, Sam! Looking good, aren’t we?”

“I - I just though - I mean -“

“Tarly, stop quivering. No harm in dressing decently for once.” Pyp chuckles as he says it, and his eyes are twinkling.

“Guys, what - what did you plan?”

“It’s a surprise. And you’re going to love it.”

Grenn sounds genuinely sure of it and Sam… well. All right. He should probably just stop worrying and go with it. He should also stop listening to a voice that sounds remarkably like his father’s telling him that he’s just wasting time and he should be home studying instead.

\---

From the outside, it looks like a normal pub. It’s named _The Wall_ and nothing suggests that it’s not - well, a regular bar. But from the way Pyp is snickering and Grenn can’t help smiling to himself, Sam guesses that there has to be a catch.

Then they get inside and he realizes what was the deal.

—

“You brought me to a _strip club_?!” Sam tries to keep his voice down as they sit at one of the tables - it’s all fake stone, but then again considering how the bar is named, it’s apt. Probably. He also knows that he’s blushing furiously and desperately trying not to look at the half-naked girl dancing somewhere at his left - clearly they have a table in the angle between the bar and the stage, so they have a good look at the people serving and at the ones dancing.

“Right on,” Grenn replies proudly. 

“It was _his_ idea actually. Which proves that he has good ideas, once in a while,” Pyp chimes in after taking a drink from his glass of beer.

“Good ideas? But - guys, really, I appreciate the thought, but - did you look at me? I just - I don’t really -“

“Tarly, stop that right now. You need to let loose some steam and watching people who are paid to do this won’t give you a ticket to any special hell, all right?”

Sam has to laugh at that - trust Pyp to remind him that they actually became friends when finding out that they were the only two people in their class that had seen _Firefly_. Good times.

“All right, fine, but believe me, it’s not -“

He was going to finish. Honest.

Except that he was looking at the bar as he said it and all of a sudden he’s not sure he can actually find it in himself to articulate a full thought.

“Hey, what’s going on there? But wow,” Pyp says as he follows Sam’s gaze.

“Woah, Sam, you know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”

Sam can barely feel Grenn clapping him on the shoulder. Because right now he’s definitely too busy staring at - at - at the fucking sex god currently dancing around the only pole on their side of the bar. And - all right, _You Can Leave Your Hat On_ is probably the most ridiculously cliché song you can hear in this kind of places, but at least it’s classy enough, and a perfect choice because the guy is - is - he’s gorgeous, all right? He’s young, has to be around Sam’s age or maybe a little younger, and if the only problem was the ripped jeans currently showing off that he has gorgeous legs and an even nicer ass, it’d be a good thing.

But that’s not the only problem. There are others. For example, that his shirt has just hit the floor and he’s showing off a nice, lithe chest that’s not overtly muscled but is not too skinny either, that his pale skin matches perfectly the dark curls falling just at his shoulders, that his lips look full and dark pink and really inviting and that there’s not a part of him that’s doesn’t fit with the rest. Oh, and he also has a pair of lovely grey eyes, which are currently fixed on Sam’s and -

Shit.

Sam proceeds to tear away his eyes from the guy and stares down at his drink, feeling like he’s going to hyperventilate.

“Sam,” Grenn whispers, and he sounds ridiculously excited.

“What?”

“Why are you even sounding that gloomy? He’s totally noticed you?”

“Are you insane? He probably noticed _you_.” After all, Grenn is tall and well-built and definitely not bad looking. There’s no way that - that _he_ noticed Sam. Nope. That’s just not it.

“I beg to disagree,” Pyp says after a moment. “He’s totally looking at you. Well, not right now since he’s currently grinding around that pole, and you really should be looking at it because fuck, _wow_ , Tarly you do have good taste, but before? He was totally looking this way, at your side of the table, as if you were the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. I’d really watch, if I were you.”

Sam does, and when he sees that the Gorgeous Guy is, in fact grinding against the pole - he’s wearing just the threadbare jeans now, and Sam didn’t know he had a thing for bare feet but - he apparently has? When it’s this guy, at least. And then he makes a spin around the damned pole and he looks at Sam again - no doubt, it’s _definitely at him_ \- and then he winks before going back to his business.

Sam’s mouth has gone so dry that the Sahara is probably a more humid place right now. There is after all water in some places, in the Sahara.

“Totally looking at you, Sam,” Grenn says, and he sounds a lot more smug than he has the right to.

“But - I can’t - he can’t really -“

“Why not?”

Sam turns towards Pyp, feeling his cheek flush even harder. “Why not? Pyp, come on, I’m not - and he _is_ \- and -“

“Hey, why do you have to assume that your gorgeous piece of ass over there is some kind of shallow idiot like most people you know?”

“Pyp, I think that we should take this matter in our own hands. It’s his birthday, right?”

“What do you - oh. _Oh_. Grenn, I take it back. You can have two good ideas in a row.”

“… Guys? What…?”

Sam doesn’t even have time to finish the sentence before Pyp gestures towards one of the waitresses - a pretty redhead that comes by their table a moment later. The tag reads _Ygritte_.

“What can I do for you guys?” she asks.

“Let’s say that we would like to buy some alone time with one of the dancers,” Pyp says. Sam goes even redder, but he doesn’t even have the words to stop it.

“All three of you? I’m afraid that -“

“No, no, just our friend over there,” Pyp says nodding towards Sam. “It’s his birthday, you know.”

“In that case, it depends on who you were thinking of. Not everyone does that.”

“Guys, there’s really no need to -“

“Shut it, Sam. Well, that’d be the guy on the bar.”

Ygritte’s lips suddenly turn into a grin that Sam doesn’t like even one bit. “Oh. _Him_. Well, it’s your lucky day. Yes, he would do alone time.”

“Splendid! Sam, will you wait a moment?” Pyp grabs Grenn by the arm and they all go somewhere far from the table, probably working out the details, and Sam is left blushing at the table, his hands shaking around the beer glass and glancing at the Gorgeous Guy On The Bar and at the thin layer of sweat on his brow. Shit, he’s getting hard just at the sight, and - he can’t - there’s just no way that he can actually be alone in a room with this person. That’s just not - that’s not how it works, and surely it can’t be true that Gorgeous Guy actually likes him someway, and then Grenn is back at the table and giving him another clap on the shoulder that almost makes Sam scream, since he hadn’t seen him coming.

“Congratulations, Tarly!” Grenn tells him, still grinning like there’s no tomorrow.

“… Congratulations?”

“Fifteen minutes from now, you’ll have… one full hour of alone time with the wonder boy over there - by the way, his name is Jon Snow, or so they say.”

“ _One hour_?”

“Relax, it was actually pretty cheap. We got it covered.”

“But - guys, I don’t even know how -“

“You don’t have to do anything then, do you?” Pyp winks and Sam resigns himself to it. He’s flattered that they’d do this for him, really, but he already knows that it’s going to be a disaster. He just doesn’t fit in an equation that includes _gorgeous people_ , or beyond gorgeous people. Damn. Sam supposes that at least Jon Snow doesn’t have a problem with - well, having alone time with another guy, but still, he spends the following fifteen minutes recalling all the crushes he’s had throughout junior high and high school on good-looking, popular guys who usually never even looked his way and when Ygritte comes to get him he follows while blushing even harder. Grenn and Pyp tell him to kill it and Sam just wishes he had half of their enthusiasm.

“Hey, don’t fret over there,” Ygritte tells him as they walk through a staff only door and she leads him up a staircase.

“Sorry?”

“You don’t need to be nervous. First time doing this, right?”

“Well, yes, but -“

“Everyone’s like that. Don’t worry, no one around here is doing this and hating it. And Snow definitely doesn’t hate it.”

“Oh. Nice. I mean, good to know, but -“

“ _Of course_ , that’s not everything you’re worried about. Dear, just calm down. If he thinks he’s going to have a problem with how you look, then you know nothing.” She stops in front of a door and opens it for him. “Now, you go inside and take a seat. He’s going to be here in five minutes, so just sit down, catch your breath and stop worrying, okay?”

He nods, incapable to come up with a decent answer, and gets into the room. It’s - well, nice. He had expected something more flashy and red lights or something equally corny, but there’s nothing of that. Instead, there’s a room that looks out of an above average hotel - there’s a sofa and what looks like a comfortable armchair, both gray leather, a piece of furniture housing a record player and a number of records, a small table with white flowers in a vase on it. The walls are painted in light gray, the lights are not entirely turned on and the entire room is permeated in a soft yellow-ish glow. Definitely classier than he’d have thought. He sits down on the sofa, takes a breath or twenty and feels thankful that he put on deodorant before going out, because otherwise he’d be sweating like a pig right now.

Jesus. All right. He can do this. He just needs not to lose his head - fine, the guy is not going to make fun of him also because he’s being paid for this, but at least he knows that much, so he doesn’t have to act like he’s getting ready to brace himself for it. Right? Right. If only _Jon Snow_ was a little less completely and absolutely gorgeous he’d feel slightly less close to hyperventilating, but then he hears the door opening and he can’t postpone this anymore, can he?

He looks at his right and - right. Jon Snow. Currently locking the door. But then he turns towards Sam - he obviously took a shower, his hair looks somehow fluffier and cleaner. He’s wearing sneakers and the same threadbare jeans, and a red t-shirt that clings to his chest enough not to leave much to the imagination. Sam’s first thought is that _damn_ , Jon Snow looks good in red.

Then he notices the small arrow in the top right corner of the shirt. But it’s not _any_ arrow, oh no. It can only be just one thing.

And - all right, fine, that was not at all the way he had thought he would break the ice, but for a single, blessed moment, he forgets all about Jon Snow’s utter gorgeousness and the fact that he couldn’t possibly have looked his way three times while they were downstairs.

“Please tell me that the original series is your favorite Star Trek, too,” his mouth blurts without his brain’s permission.

(Because _that_ ’s definitely a Star Trek shirt, and it’s totally original series related, and Sam has spent years memorizing it while surrounded by people who thought that it was the lamest thing ever. Fine, fine, his little sister did like Star Trek too, but they mostly spent their time fighting because she like _Deep Space Nine_ best and - how can you like _Deep Space Nine_ better than the original?)

He’s about to curse at himself, but - the moment he had asked that question Jon Snow was sporting a pleased smile that was probably business. After it leaves his mouth, it becomes wider and his eyes suddenly go _excited_ , and fuck but if he was gorgeous before, now that he’s smiling he’s just - Sam isn’t sure he can do this without saying something very corny.

“Please tell me that you hated _Voyager_ as much as I did.”

“ _Voyager_ was a joke,” Sam answers without even blinking, and Jon’s grin gets wider, and - fine, there’s a part of him that is still telling him that he’s being ridiculous, but the part of him who’s been dying to just finally find someone (not on the internet) sharing his opinions is louder, and that’s probably why he doesn’t even flinch when Jon sits next to him on the sofa.

“Oh, _finally_ ,” he says, sounding relieved. “Damn, can you believe that the only person I know who actually watched all of it is my brother and he actually fucking loves _Voyager_? He thinks that the original series is corny.”

“Corny? _How_ is it corny? And how does he even like _Voyager_? I mean, how can you even like any Star Trek better than the one with Kirk and Spock in the first place?”

“ _Yes_ , yes, that’s what I’ve been saying for years. And - oh. Damn. I’m sorry, that probably wasn’t very professional? I mean, I didn’t even introduce myself.” Sam can’t believe that Jon’s cheeks have turned slightly pink, if the light isn’t playing tricks on him.

And then -

Oh. Right. “Oh, _oh_ , I’m sorry, actually - I - I probably shouldn’t have just gone and asked that? I’m - it’s just that I never find anyone who actually likes it and -“

“Hey, that’s cool. I mean, same thing here, right? I suppose Ygritte told you already, but - I’m Jon. And if you’re wondering, yes, it’s my real name.”

“She did, but - it’s nice to introduce properly, right? I’m Sam. And - really, sorry about having just thrown that on you, but -“

“Hey, it’s all cool. And no one ever gets the reference. Right, maybe I shouldn’t have picked the _red shirt_ , but it was the only one I’ve ever been able to find.”

“Why, what was your first choice?”

Jon honest-to-god-blushes. Again. “I was hoping to find one like Kirk’s, actually. Yes, I know, it’s totally lame, but -“

“I’d have gone for Spock probably. If I ever went looking for Trek shirts. It’s… as totally lame, I guess?”

Jon laughs, a small pleased laugh, and the next time someone tells Sam that love at first sight doesn’t exist he’s going to prove them wrong. He’s pretty sure he’s in love. And what’s not to like? Attractive, easy to talk to - seriously, they’ve talked more now than Sam has talked to some classmates in five years of high school - and he likes the original series. If Sam had to describe his ideal guy _this_ would have trumped any possible fantasy.

“I suppose so. Well, we can be lame together I suppose?”

To Sam, it sounds like a perfectly good prospect. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, always better than the people who go see the movie and then watch the original series and think that it’s not as good and that it _looks dated_.”

“Oh my, those people? Is it horrible if I say that whenever I hear that I feel like setting them on fire?”

“No. My brother is like that actually - one of the reasons why I’m glad I moved out.” And since when he’s sharing that kind of personal information?

“College? Sorry if I’m prying, but -“

“No, no, it’s cool. You’re right.” He sounds genuinely interested though. So Sam says that he’s studying English Lit, and learns that Jon was planning to enroll in the police but didn’t pass the eyesight test ( _I’m wearing contact lenses now, but even with those I didn’t qualify_ , he explains) - right now he’s going for a psychology degree.

“I work here mostly because I can keep my own place. For what it is, it pays pretty well.”

“Doesn’t it feel… weird?”

“Not really,” Jon says, shrugging. “ It’s not like they ask you to do more than dancing. If we’re talking about the one-on-one thing, well, at the beginning it was, but it’s pretty straightforward. You don’t really have to do more than that and anyway you can’t go farther than that in here even if you wanted. It’s pretty safe - there’s a regular contract and everything. I could do a lot worse.”

Sam supposes it’s a point. Then again, all the strip clubs knowledge he has comes from _Sopranos_ , and he figures that it’s hardly something to use as a term of comparison.

“Also, when you wait you get the tips. Which is extremely helpful, if you want to save some money for the cinema budget. Though I’m still kind of pissed that I spent at least three tips on damned _Prometheus_.”

“Oh dear, I know? Who even put that plot together?”

“Right? And seriously, when you directed the first you really shouldn’t accept… that script. Woah, that was horrible.”

“So you’re skipping the sequel?”

“Why, they fucking _planned a sequel_ to that? I think I’ll stick with the first three, thanks.”

Sam agrees wholeheartedly, and then the conversation moves on how terrible the Star Wars prequels were - and anyway the Star Trek original series was better than any Star Wars in existence. When Jon commiserates on one of his sisters actually liking _Fifty Shades of Grey_ Sam wants to weep in joy as he says that one of his sisters loves that crap, too, and how is it even a thing, and he’s cursing the universe for the fact that they weren’t in the same class in high school - his life would have vastly improved if it had been the case - when suddenly an alarm starts beeping from Jon’s watch.

And at that Jon’s face falls.

“Damn it,” he says.

And then Sam realizes that their hour is up.

“Hey, that’s - that’s cool. I mean, it’s not like - uh, damn, I don’t know how to put it.”

“Just start from the beginning?”

“Well, er, my friends paid for it - it was their idea. And I just - it was better like this. I mean, it was great talking to you and it’s not like I had started the evening thinking that - uh - you get it.”

The corners of Jon’s mouth curl up in a small grin and damn - Sam is spiraling towards awkward all over again.

“And - well, I suppose I have to go, so - thank you, it was -“

And then Jon puts a hand on Sam’s chest, pushing him against the sofa. “You’re welcome, but I really think you shouldn’t leave yet.”

“Sorry?”

“Case is, my shift was over an hour ago. In theory.” He stands up and goes towards the stack of LPs next to the record player. Sam can’t avoid staring at Jon’s backside. Damn. “When Ygritte asked me if I was up for it, she also told me who was that asked.”

“And?”

Jon ignores Sam’s question and picks an album before turning on the record player. When the vinyl starts turning, Sam is pretty confident that it’s some CCR song, but he can’t really place it right now. Not when his blood is going towards places that are not his brain.

Then Jon walks away from the player and proceeds to - _to sit down with his knees around Sam’s legs and this can’t be fucking happening._

“And let’s say that if it had been anyone else I’d have accepted just because it’s more money,” he says as his hips sway slightly, following the rhythm.

“Are you serious?”

“Let’s also say that, since in theory I’ve been paid for my time, what happens from now on isn’t on your friends’ money.”

“ _What_?”

“Come on,” Jon says as he moves slightly closer. Damn. He’ll notice that Sam is hard right now, if he hasn’t already. “Who do you think I was looking at, downstairs?”

“You - you were looking at me?”

“Seemed to me like you were doing the same, or weren’t you?”

Jon’s hands are on Sam’s hips right now and - oh fuck, Sam isn’t going to survive this.

“I - I thought they were imagining it?”

Jon shakes his head before inching even closer, his calves hooking around Sam’s knees. “That really, _really_ wasn’t the case.”

Damn. He’s grinding his hips following the music.

Sam is pretty sure that he’s going to die here.

“It - it wasn’t? But - I mean, I just -“

“It wasn’t. I was thinking that I could just do what I would have done if we had… let’s say, ran into each other at a bar.”

Okay. Sam’s blood is definitely nowhere near his brain right now.

“After all, I’m not supposed to do this when I’m on shift. Which isn’t happening right now.”

“Far - far from me to refuse, but - really?”

Jon looks down at him for a moment, and damn he should just stop moving his hips like _that_ , and then he grins again.

“Let me guess, no one’s told you that you’re pretty damn cute lately, did they?”

Sam’s brain gets stuck on _cute_.

“I suppose not,” Jon keeps on. “Well,” he says as his hands starts moving up and down, still following that damn music - right. _I put a spell on you_. Definitely CCR -, “too bad, because they should. That said, after I spent the last hour talking to you without even realizing it had been that long, my opinion was definitely confirmed.”

“And - that would be?”

Sam shudders when Jon’s hand touches his cock, which is beyond half-hard by now. “That I’d really like to kiss you. Possibly right now. I wouldn’t be adverse to helping you out, too.”

It’s a testament to how exactly far gone Sam is that he doesn’t even _think_ about it before he raises up his hands, grabs Jon’s face in his hands and kisses him. He just hopes that it doesn’t show that he’s kissed exactly one person in his life (Gilly, in middle school, before she moved states - she was pretty much his only friend back then, and he never knew why she liked him, but then again they kissed twice and that was it), but then Jon starts using his tongue and Sam can’t think straight anymore. Jon kisses like he means it, and his lips are soft and warm and they feel ridiculously good against his, and Sam kisses back without wondering how the hell it’s happening - when it’s over, Jon’s cheeks are flushed and he’s still grinning, and Sam knows that he’s probably smiling like an idiot but he can’t really worry about that right now. Not when Jon’s hands are on his belt - he falls to his knees as the record moves onto _Suzie Q_.

“Nice to see that I wasn’t wrong, when I thought you were looking back.” Jon sounds very smug as he pushes Sam’s jeans and underwear down to his knees.

“I - uh - damn, well, I’m not blind,” Sam stammers.

“I’m not either,” Jon replies, and then he winks and _ohsweetjesus_ the moment Jon licks a stripe around the head of his cock Sam decides that he can worry about how this can’t be happening later, because it’s apparently happening and he’s not going to be distracted through it. He barely has time to recover before Jon takes him into his mouth for real - the moment Sam realizes that he’s still following the beat of the song in the background even as he’s sucking him off, his brain goes into short-circuit and he doesn’t know that his hands have reached down for Jon’s hair (it’s soft, and clean, and the perfect length - he can grip it without tugging too hard). Jon doesn’t seem against this at all - if only, he takes Sam’s cock in deeper and the sight is almost enough to make Sam come on the spot - fuck, Jon seems to be really into it, and - Sam will have time to worry about it later. Right now he’s just worrying about how fucking _good_ this feels, about the way Jon’s moving his tongue, about how deep he’s actually managing to take him and Sam thinks that he’s this close - he can’t last much longer. He tugs at Jon’s hair a bit harder, speech having completely left him, but Jon doesn’t move at once. His tongue runs along Sam’s length slowly as Jon takes away his mouth, but then Jon is straddling him again and has his hand wrapped around Sam’s cock, his thumb on the head, and - that’s really too much, and it takes Sam a few strokes before he’s coming all over Jon’s hand, and Jon keeps on stroking him through his orgasm and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his entire life - surely he can’t remember another instance.

But he’s not too far gone - before Jon can think about leaving, Sam brings his head down so that he can kiss Jon again and he fumbles with his free hand, searching for jeans’s button. He opens it with shaking fingers and pulls the zipper down, and Jon moans into his mouth when Sam’s hand finds his cock - gods, he’s not wearing underwear. Sam thinks he might get turned on again in a minute or so, but then his brain goes back to what he needs to do and he might not be a pro at sex with others, but he does know a thing or two about using your hands, and so he wraps his fingers around Jon’s erection (shit, he’s hard, Sam can’t believe that but he’ll have to deal with it later) and apparently Jon wasn’t better off than him - he’s coming moments later, and when he moans into Sam’s mouth all over again as he does, Sam decides that he has to re-evaluate things - accepting his friends’ stupid birthday gift is the best thing he’s ever done. Yes. Totally. Absolutely.

The record isn’t playing anymore when Jon’s forehead touches Sam’s and they’re both breathing in and out, the two of them completely spent.

“Woah,” Jon says a while later. “That was something I’d totally do again.”

“Maybe after refreshing your memory about _The Wrath of Khan_?” Sam wants to bite his own stupid tongue at that, because - oh shit, did he just - did he just ask Jon on some kind of date?

But then Jon moves back a bit, his ridiculously pretty mouth (and now his lips are the color of ripe strawberries, and Sam wants to kiss them again) curling up in another grin.

“I think that if I don’t have your number before you leave I’ll be very disappointed.”

“… For real?”

Jon shrugs and his mouth moves close enough that it’d take nothing to kiss. “Doesn’t happen to me every day that I run into _adorable_ people who should really stop thinking that I couldn’t find them attractive and who also have excellent taste and make me offers I can’t refuse. Yes, Sam, for real.”

Sam does eventually give him his number.

Not right then though - they make out for another ten minutes or so after.

—

“That was more like one hour and a half,” Pyp inquires when Sam finally goes back downstairs. “What did - _oh_.”

“What?”

Both Pyp and Grenn stare at him for a moment before they both break out laughing at the same time. “Woah, Sam, I didn’t suspect that you’d go past second base, but getting laid looks pretty damn good on you. Doesn’t it?”

“Yep,” Grenn agrees. “Told you that he was looking at you.”

“So we can deduce that it went good?”

Sam clears his throat. “We exchanged numbers? And how did you guess anyway?”

“Oh my,” Pyp whistles. “Well, first thing, it’s all over your face. That you got laid, I mean. Didn’t lose time, did you? And how did that happen?”

“He hates _Voyager_ , too.”

“He hates - oh, good, another Trek nerd. Grenn, be ready, in the next months or so it’s all we’ll hear about.”

“But -“

Sam is about to answer when he sees Jon walking past them, out of the window. He’s wearing glasses now - right, he said he had contact lenses before. Black, square, nice glasses, and damn but Sam didn’t know he had a thing for people in glasses except that maybe now he does. Jon winks at him before waving - after Sam waves back, he heads for a black motorcycle parked in front of the club and drives away.

“ _Well_ ,” Pyp says after a beat or two, “if you don’t show up at campus with him at some point and proceed on making everyone else green with envy, I’m going to disown you. Clear, Tarly?”

Sam knows that he’s still grinning, but it’s fine. It feels good. He isn’t in any hurry to stop anytime soon.

“Clear.”

Yes, Sam thinks, this is definitely the best birthday ever. And if both Pyp and Grenn look ridiculously smug when he informs them, well, they deserved to know.

And so maybe he’s grinning even more when the day after he gets a text asking _is the offer I couldn’t refuse still valid_ , and as he answers that of course it is.

End.


End file.
